Plunging into the Depths
by randomtastic7
Summary: Femslash! Set during GoF, Hermione's sensing a little tension in her home life as well as suffering from strange dreams. Hoping to find some peace of mind at the Quidditch World Cup, she fails, and is instead kissed by Fleur! A tad dark later on.
1. Chaotic First Encounter

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or any of the other characters; they are the creations of JK Rowling. Nor am I making a profit from this.

**A/N:** Hello all, this is my first Harry Potter fanfiction. I know that I really shouldn't be starting another story when I already have two ongoing stories that I haven't been regularly updating! But this story idea won't leave me alone, and so I decided to write it down before it held me up anymore. I recently discovered the Fleur/Hermione pairing and fell in love with it instantly. This is also my first time writing femmeslash. Don't like it? Don't read it. This takes place during the Quidditch World Cup in GoF, because while I believe it could definitely be possible for Fleur and Hermione to strike up a relationship with their first meeting as the Beauxbatons entrance in October, it makes for more drama and fun if they had a previous meeting. Also, the "holiday in France" setup has been done a lot, so I figured this would be a more interesting starting point. This should cover the events of GoF and beyond, becoming more and more AU as we progress through the storyline… But this is NOT one of those stories where Fleur wins the Triwizard Tournament or Hermione becomes the fourth champion. Enough of my prattle and enjoy!

* * *

**Prologue: Chaotic First Encounter **

It was a warm summer's night, the stars twinkling in the clear English sky. A constant jovial chattering permeated the air as a result of the Irish victory during the recent Quidditch World Cup match against the legendary seeker Viktor Krum and the Bulgarian side. Yet somehow Hermione Granger, soon-to-be fifteen year-old witch, entering into her fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, felt the need to distance herself from the celebration, instead finding comfort against a large pine tree near the edge of the forest.

From her resting spot Hermione could still distantly make out the silhouette of the small enchanted tent she had been staying in for the past few days. She could imagine the sleeping forms of her two best friends, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, in addition to Fred, George, Ginny, and Mr. Weasley, and knew that she should be inside with them. The Weasleys had been kind enough to invite Hermione with them to the Quidditch World Cup, and while she was not nearly as avid a Quidditch fan as Harry or Ron, she could not decline an offer to travel with her friends and escape from her parents. Hermione grimaced at this thought, moving few meters deeper into the forest. Though she never resented being a muggle-born witch, never ashamed to explain what dentistry was to her magical friends, Hermione's parents had been acting strangely all summer. At first she attributed the over-protective behavior to the near-death experience she had with Sirius Black and Remus Lupin at the end of her third year, remembering her parents' tight embrace when she had stepped off the Hogwarts Express. However, her parents never let her out of their sight, even insisting on her spending her days in their clinic so that they could keep an eye on her! Honestly, it wasn't as if she was going to abandon her parents at 14 years old! But despite the physical closeness she had with her parents, Hermione could feel an emotional chasm widening between them. It wasn't the same disconnect that usually accompanied the car ride home from King's Cross, as her parents and she reacquainted themselves after spending nearly a year apart, but something much greater, much deeper. She had brought this up with them during dinner one evening, but the couple simply averted their eyes and said it was nothing, that they were just so glad their baby was home again with them. They all knew that this was not the truth, but at the same time they did not want to stir up any more tension between them. Hermione knew that her parents sometimes struggled to accept the more complicated aspects of the magical world, and did not want to push them any further out of their comfort zone. They would talk to her when they were ready, and Hermione went on this trip with the Weasleys in order to give her parents time to gather their thoughts.

While searching for equilibrium with her parents was trying and still unsuccessful, Hermione had more on her plate to deal with. She had been experiencing a recurring dream, and an unnerving one at that. Hermione would find herself standing in a dilapidated, deserted manor, a foreboding mist hovering eerily over the floor. Cobwebs and dust covered every surface, and a musty odor clung to the inside of her nostrils. But the setting of her dream was not what frightened Hermione, the dark and filth did not scare her. It was the progression of her discoveries in that house. Each time she had this dream, which was not exactly every night, but at least a few times a week, a new room in the house would open up to her, the atmosphere would become more ominous, or the walls would seem to warp. The sounds were the worst, though. Sometimes it was just the creaking of the ancient floorboards, or the scratching of branches against the windowpanes. But sometimes it was whimpering, malicious laughter, or even bloodcurdling screams. Every time Hermione woke up, she was covered in a thin film of sweat, gasping for breath, and clutching the area around her heart.

Tonight was no different, and the amused laughter that she had heard in her dreams this time still echoed in her mind. Hermione had left the tent to get some fresh air and peace of mind, and didn't want to disturb her friends. She had hoped that the dreams would stop if she left her parents, and although they did become less frequent, they did not cease altogether. A warm breeze blew some of the brunette's bedraggled hair to the side. It was then that she heard a twig break around her. Shaken from her reverie, Hermione twirled around, but saw nobody. Not convinced she was simply hearing things, Hermione slowly backed her way deeper into the forest. This was not the first time Hermione felt like she was being watched, having felt someone's gaze on her a few other times ever since arriving at the campsite. It wasn't the fact that someone was watching her that disturbed Hermione, though. On any other occasion, she may have even found it amusing, being the center of someone's attention like that. But the feeling that Hermione had when she guessed the eyes were trained on her felt as if they were piercing into her very soul. Frankly, it was unnerving, and coupled with her unsettling dreams, Hermione decided to put a stop to at least one of her nagging problems. Plunging her hand into her pajama pocket, Hermione groaned inwardly as her hand groped at the warm but empty fabric. Clearly her wand was still inside the tent. The tent that was now over a kilometer away. She was defenseless in the middle of a forest, with someone obviously stalking her. The circumstances were not looking very favorable.

"Who's there?" hesitantly asked Hermione, hoping it was just Harry or one of the Weasleys coming to check on her. She doubted it though, as she was already deep into the depths of the woods. If Hermione had to look for either of her friends, she would not have ventured out this far.

There was no verbal response, only a few more breaking twigs. Hermione could feel her heart beginning to race, as she called out nervously, "Harry, Ron, this isn't funny!"

As the young girl turned to make a run for it back to the tent, a cool, well-manicured hand grabbed her wrist. Turning around to identify her assailant, Hermione instead found her lips crushed against a pair of heavenly soft ones. Any situation such as this would normally be alarming, but what made this encounter more than just shocking was that these divine lips belonged to another girl. Not just any girl, one part of Hermione's mind noted. At such close quarters she could only make out the other woman's long, wispy blonde hair and captivating icy blue eyes, but even with those few defining features Hermione could tell that this woman was more than just pretty. While one portion of Hermione's mind made these embarrassingly superficial observations, the other was frantically trying to find a way to escape. She was being kissed against her will, gender be damned! She could work out the details later! The mysterious female still had one hand tightly gripping Hermione's arm, the other hand gently resting on her shoulder. Hermione tried to pull away, but only caused the other woman's lips to hungrily press forward. Hermione surprised herself by not attempting to escape any further. This woman's lips were so soft, her teeth lightly nipping Hermione's bottom lip as the arm on the shoulder drifted lower. Before Hermione could react, an explosion shook the ground, and the two fell onto the soft grass below.

Scrambling to her feet, bewildered, Hermione saw flames burst up from the direction of the campsite, followed by frantic screams. About to run back to the tent, Hermione turned back to the direction of the other woman, only to find the place where she had landed on the ground empty. Hermione was torn, part of her wanting to seek out the mysterious woman, while the other part of her worried if the explosion had harmed her friends. Deciding it was more important to find out what was going on, Hermione reluctantly began to sprint back towards the campsite. Little did she notice the blonde haired woman pressing herself against the back of a tree, desperately trying to remain hidden. As Hermione's form disappeared into the dark, she let out a sigh, her fingers gently tracing her lips.

"Mon amour…"

* * *

Before Hermione could make it back to her friends, a sharp pain struck her, knocking the breath out of her and bringing the young girl to her knees. It was then that a disheveled Harry and Ron nearly trampled over her in the forest.

"Bloody hell, Hermione, where have you been?" exclaimed Ron, as he procured her wand from his pocket. "You weren't in the tent when the commotion started, and you left your wand on the nightstand!"

"You're lucky Ron found your wand, Hermione," Harry admonished her. "I don't know where mine's gone…" When she didn't reply, Harry noticed her tightly clenched fist over her chest.

"What's wrong, Hermione?" Harry asked, as she shakily took her wand from Ron's outstretched hand.

"Don't—know—" sputtered Hermione, tensing as another sharp pain coursed through her body. The sensation was not unlike the after effects of her nightmares, and she noticed her breathing was becoming more and more erratic. Sweat began to form on her skin as her heart felt like it was going to leap from her chest.

"What's happening?—" Hermione managed to gasp out, the pain momentarily subsiding.

"We'll explain as we move," Harry said, bending down and slowly pulling Hermione's arm around his neck, gesturing for Ron to do the same. "Death Eaters are torturing the muggle campground owner and his family. We have to move away from the campsite as fast as we can."

The trio slowly rose, Hermione propped up by her two friends. They slowly made their way back into the forest, trying to avoid tripping over tree roots in the dark. An uncomfortable silence descended upon them as they continued to toil through their inky surroundings. The quiet reminded Hermione that there had been more people in the tent.

"Where are Mr. Weasley, the twins, and Ginny?" questioned Hermione, breaking the silence.

"Dad had to go help the Ministry," answered Ron, "and we got separated from the others in the crowd."

"So we're just wandering around in the forest, waiting for someone to find us?" Hermione asked, unable to hide the irritation in her voice. She knew that the boys were not to blame for their disorganized escape, but the perfectionist inside her couldn't help but get frustrated that there had been no evacuation plan in place. Walking aimlessly in the woods at night was not something she had wanted to do this evening.

"Dad said that he would meet us when he was finished," Ron grunted, trying to avoid a tree branch while supporting Hermione at the same time. "He said to just continue in this direction, that we'd eventually run into the others."

Hermione doubted that they would, given the vast area of the forest, but held her tongue. Voicing her skepticism aloud would only worsen the situation. Harry and Ron were trying their best to get her out safely, and she knew that she would not be able to get far by herself with her inexplicable pain. Deep in her thoughts, Hermione failed to hear the rustling of branches nearby, or the deep voice casting a spell. Focusing on bringing Hermione away from the chaos, Harry and Ron remained oblivious.

"Well I—" Hermione attempted to comfort them when the pain that had been bombarding her chest shifted to her head. Her mind began to pulse, the pain pounding within her cranium. Whatever Harry and Ron were trying to say to her as she grasped her head was lost on her, as Hermione struggled to stay conscious. The image of her two friends began to swim in front of her eyes, and soon Hermione knew no more.

It was then that Harry and Ron noticed the ominous Dark Mark floating above them.

* * *

**A/N: **This first chapter may be a little short, but it is really a prologue, setting things up for when the story moves to Hogwarts, which will be next chapter. Reviews are always welcome, especially because this fandom and femmeslash thing is new for me. Thanks!


	2. Collision with Reality

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or any of the other characters, they are the brilliant creations of JK Rowling!

**A/N: **This is just to bridge the gap between the Quidditch World Cup and Fleur's reappearance, therefore, there will not really be any Fleur/Hermione interaction. Sorry to those who were looking forward to that, but I think something else in here will satisfy you until then.

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**Chapter 2: Collision with Reality**

The week that had followed the incident at the World Cup had been a blur for Hermione. When she had regained consciousness, she was already safely tucked into a spare bed in Ginny's room at the Burrow, the sun just peeking over the horizon. The pain that she had suffered through earlier seemed like an illusion, as her muscles let her sit up in the bed without complaint. Hearing her movement, Ginny sprang up from her own bed and promptly pushed Hermione back onto her pillow, ordering her to remain still while she fetched her mother. Hermione complied, not eager to incur the overprotective wrath of Mrs. Weasley, especially when she was trapped within the woman's own home. She could hear Mrs. Weasley well before she appeared in the doorway, carrying a scrumptious feast of eggs, toast, ham, beans, and fruit, in addition to a few mysterious bottles on a tray.

"Hermione, love, I'm so glad you're awake!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, setting the tray on a nearby nightstand. "How are you feeling? Does your head hurt? Or your chest? Ron and Harry said that you had been clutching it before you passed out. Are you hungry? Is the food too much? I can—"

"Mum, why don't you let Hermione answer before asking her another question?" Ginny intervened from the doorway, exasperation at her mother's behavior apparent in her eyes. Hermione grinned.

"I'm actually fine, Mrs. Weasley, really," Hermione assured the Weasley matriarch. "Nothing hurts, I feel as good as new!" Mrs. Weasley looked skeptical, but before she could voice her concern Hermione announced, "Oh, I am just so ravenous!" and began to eat the food on the tray. Always happy that someone was eating, Mrs. Weasley relented.

"I'll come up to check on you in a bit, Hermione dear. Don't eat too fast, and," she added sternly, "do not leave that bed."

Hermione nodded in affirmation as she watched Mrs. Weasley return downstairs. She beckoned Ginny towards her bed, scooting over to make room for the youngest Weasley to sit. As Ginny made her way closer to Hermione, the elder witch couldn't help but notice the younger's growing maturity. It was only two years ago that Harry had rescued a trembling first year from the Chamber of Secrets, and the person she was looking at now exuded nothing but bubbly confidence, and right now, irritation.

"I'm sorry, 'Mione," the redhead apologized, sprawling out on the brunette's bed. "I told Mum that you had just woken up and would probably want a bite to eat, and she just started cranking out the food."

"It's really no problem, Ginny," Hermione said, popping a grape in her mouth. She glanced at the potions sharing the tray with the food, her curiosity getting the better of her. From labels such as "Draught of Living Death", "Draught of Peace", and "Sleepless Dreams", Hermione deduced that Mrs. Weasley had expected for her to be more than a little agitated in her conscious state. Turning to her roommate, she asked, "What happened while I was out?"

"For starters, you've been unconscious for about three days, thrashing about at all conceivable hours of the night, I might add. That's probably why Mum brought up all that," Ginny informed her, gesturing at the overflowing tray. "We met up with you, Harry, and Ron about half an hour after you passed out," Ginny paused, smirking at Hermione, "Ron insisted on carrying you the whole way back to the Burrow."

Hermione laughed at the younger witch's insinuation. "_Ronald_ may have a crush on me, _Ginevra_, but I do not seem him as anything more than a best friend, and you know it!"

"You may want to tell him that," Ginny threw back playfully, "before he kisses you while you're conscious!"

"What?" Hermione bolted up from the bed, knocking Ginny as she changed positions.

"Oh, don't worry, 'Mione, he just pecked you on the lips when he thought no one was looking. It hardly counts as a first kiss, but—"

"That wasn't my first kiss!" Hermione blurted out, the events from before the chaos at the World Cup rushing back to her. Only when those words had left her mouth did she regret voicing them at all.

"When? You never told me, and you tell me _everything_," Ginny said, embracing her role as Hermione's confidante.

"Well…" trailed Hermione hesitantly not knowing how to tell Ginny. Heck, if she still wasn't sure of what had happened, how could she tell someone else an accurate summary? "It was during the World Cup, actually the night we left…"

"And?" inquired Ginny expectantly. "Was he cute? Was he tall? Oh! Was he one of the Quidditch players? A foreigner?"

"Ginny!" Hermione called, reining the young witch in from her own fantasies. "It was with…" the brunette witch took a deep breath, balling the bed sheets tightly in her hands, a scarlet blush gracing her cheeks, "with a girl."

"Come again?" Ginny asked, thinking she had heard wrongly, "You kissed another _girl_?" Hearing no objection from the still flushing Hermione, Ginny said, "I didn't think you swung that way."

"It wasn't on my own free will!" Hermione interjected, "She practically forced herself on me!" Though, Hermione acknowledged to herself, she hadn't exactly tried very hard to escape. "I was in the woods alone, without a wand, and she just grabbed me and kissed!"

"But you kissed back?" clarified Ginny. "Or she just sort of sucked on your face?"

"No, she did not 'suck on my face'" retorted Hermione, unable to ignore such ridiculous speculation, "But I didn't kiss back either… I don't really know what happened," the older witch admitted, frustrated with herself. "All I can really remember are her eyes, they were such a piercing blue…" Hermione blushed again, realizing she had voiced her thoughts aloud.

"What were you even doing out in the forest that late?" questioned Ginny, trying to form a picture of the situation in her mind, not missing the dreamy expression Hermione had had on her face.

"It was this dream I've been having," nonchalantly replied Hermione, "I think it's just this nightmare I get when I'm stressed or something. I just went out to get some air." Hermione knew she was downplaying her dreams much more than what she had just told Ginny, but she understood that nightmare even less than her encounter in the forest, and decided to learn more before really sharing it with anyone.

"So let me get this straight, Hermione. You were out in the middle of the forest collecting your thoughts when a girl with 'piercing blue eyes' came out of nowhere and kissed you?" summarized Ginny.

"Essentially," Hermione said, more confused than when she had woken up. Who was that woman in the forest? Was she the one who had been watching her all that time during the World Cup? Why had she passed out? Was that pain she had felt real? Was it related to her nightmares? Hermione groaned, burying her face in the covers. "This is such a mess…"

"So are you," Ginny hesitated, "you know, a lesbian then? I won't judge you if you are, but just to know."

"I am not sure," Hermione answered truthfully. "To be honest, I'm just really confused about everything. Between the kiss and passing out in the forest, I can hardly place myself. But I would really appreciate it if you wouldn't share the kiss thing with anyone, especially Ron and Harry. They don't have to know until I'm sure, and I want to tell them myself if that happens," Hermione said determinedly.

"Don't worry," promised Ginny, "Your secret's safe with me."

* * *

A few days after her exchange with Ginny, Hermione had finally convinced Mrs. Weasley that she was well enough to return to her parents. While she had been eager to leave them before, Hermione still loved her parents despite their strange behavior, and wanted to spend as much time as possible with them before leaving for Hogwarts. Mrs. Weasley understood the pain of familial separation, and allowed Hermione to leave on the condition that she forego any strenuous activity. The brunette readily accepted, not having planned to do anything but study, pack, and follow whatever family-bonding impulses her parents forced upon her. She could put up with their hovering for a few more days, and then she would be gone again.

Mr. Weasley was kind enough to side-along Apparate with Hermione to her parents' house in the morning, explaining to the muggle couple what had happened at the World Cup and assuring them that their daughter was relatively unscathed.

"'Relatively' unscathed?" Mr. Granger asked, concern lacing his voice. "I knew we shouldn't have let Hermione go this trip with these people."

"Dad!" Hermione warned, hoping Mr. Weasley wasn't too offended. Luckily, Ron's muggle-obsessed father was too busy examining the sprinkler system in the garden to take notice of the insult. Turning to her own parents she reminded, "The Weasleys were kind enough to invite me to the Quidditch World Cup! It's like the FIFA World Cup in that it only happens every four years, so it was a great opportunity."

"Walter," intervened Mrs. Granger in a hushed voice, "Perhaps it would be better to discuss this with our daughter inside." Addressing Mr. Weasley she said in an overly-polite manner, "Thank you for having our daughter," she paused trying to recall how exactly magical people went from one place to the other. Unable to recall the name of the popping teleportation that she knew Hermione had used to get back, she settled for a simple and vague, "Safe travels!"

Mr. Weasley tore his gaze from the sprinklers and shook the hands of both Granger adults heartily before stepping back. "Ah, yes, thank you! Tell Hermione to take it easy, we wouldn't want her to faint again!" Oblivious to the alarm that the Grangers displayed at his last comment, Mr. Weasley tipped his hat and Disapparated.

Ushering their only child inside, the Grangers herded Hermione onto a worn, comfortable, leather loveseat before settling themselves opposite of her on the sofa. The family stared intently at one another daring each other to speak first. Hermione had honestly been caught off-guard, she had not been planning on sharing her recent health issues with her parents. Internally she berated herself, she _should_ have anticipated that Mr. Weasley would have mentioned to her parents what had happened, it was actually quite dense of her to think otherwise. She had naively assumed that her parents would ask her about the trip just as a form of courtesy, knowing they wouldn't be able to appreciate the event, or being able to relate well to any of the current events in the magical world. She was had been prepared to tell her parents that she had had a lovely time on her trip, that Harry and Ron were the same as always, except taller, that Ginny was still infatuated with Harry, and that Mrs. Weasley said "hello", not that she had been experiencing nightmares, stalked throughout her stay at the campsite, snogged by said stalker, who just so happened to be female, and passed out from inexplicable pain in the middle of a death eater raid. Who in their right mind told their muggle dentist parents that? At all? Nevertheless, Hermione was not called the brightest witch of her year for nothing, and sucked in a breath to explain the situation to her parents.

"Mum, Dad," she began, eyeing the couple warily across the coffee table, "the Quidditch World Cup was great, really, and—"

"How could that trip be so great that you _collapsed_ during it?" interrupted Mr. Granger, disbelief in his tone. "You will never be going on a trip with those Weasleys again!"

"What?" yelled Hermione, unable to contain herself. "What happened to me had nothing to do with the Weasleys! I was collecting my thoughts out in the forest when some," Hermione paused not wanting to reveal the presence of her stalker and the death eaters. If her dad was so quick to forbid her from going on holiday with the Weasleys, she was never getting out of the house again if they found out about that she had been assaulted by a random woman and almost attacked by death eaters. "—when some drunken hooligans from the game started rioting. I was still recovering in the forest when the crowds started coming, and if it weren't for Harry and Ron I would have been trampled alive!"

"But Hermione dear, why were you even out in the forest? Why did you need to collect your thoughts? Did that Ronald boy do something to you?" asked Mrs. Granger, speaking before her frantic husband could start.

Hermione uneasily shifted in her seat, staring down at her feet. She hadn't told her parents anything about her dreams, about the pain that she usually found in her chest afterwards. She did not want to worry them more, but at the same time, maybe they already knew? Sometimes people screamed out during their nightmares, and though no one had told Hermione that she had been vocally disruptive in the night, maybe her parents were waiting for her to open up to them? Hermione decided to give it a shot. After all, wasn't honesty the best policy?

"I have been having nightmares," Hermione admitted, peering up to see her parents' reaction. Their expressions seemed to be frozen. While this was not the most desirable result of her confession, she decided to press forward, hoping to thaw them from their evident shock. "They started just after I came home this summer, and often involve me wandering around an abandoned house, followed by screaming or maniacal laughter. They are extremely disturbing, and I always awaken with an elevated heart rate. That's why I needed to collect my thoughts."

Hermione's parents had gradually paled to a sickly white as she summarized her nightmares, their eyes widening in despair. Hermione couldn't understand the extremity of their reactions. She understood that it was slightly horrific for their only child to be having recurring nightmares, they could be worried that she was afflicted with some mental trauma from her various escapades at Hogwarts. But the anguish in her parents' expressions went far deeper than that, like she was going to suddenly disappear from the face of the Earth. Before she could attempt to reassure them, her father suddenly got to his feet.

"You will not be going to Hogwarts this year," he quietly declared with solemn finality.

"Walter, you can't just stop her from going to school, that won't solve anything!" cried Mrs. Granger, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Yes I can, Michelle," Mr. Granger replied firmly. "If she doesn't go, then maybe—"

But before Mr. Granger could finish, an owl flew in through the open living room window, landing in front of the elder Grangers from its perch on the coffee table. Attached to its leg was a scarlet red envelope, seemingly shaking with rage. Hermione, who had been watching her parent's exchange in silent dismay, mouth agape at her father's proclamation, was stirred from her shock when she eyed the owl's delivery. It was a Howler. What could she have done now? She had done nothing to warrant being the unfortunate recipient of the irate letter, but nothing seemed to be making sense anyway. Untying the message from the owl, Hermione barely had time to register that it was addressed to her parents before it leapt from her hand, shifting from the form of a letter to a pair of angry red lips.

"REMEMBER YOUR PROMISE. DO NOT TRY TO STOP THE INEVITABLE!" roared the letter in a deep, oddly familiar, male timbre. Instantly, the Howler burst into flames, leaving Hermione's muggle parents staring in fear at the remaining ash.

"Mum, Dad, what was that about?" Hermione asked hesitantly, her mind furiously trying to decipher who from the wizarding world would have made a promise with her non-magical parents, what they had vowed to do, and what was inevitable. Much to her dismay, Hermione could not figure out the answers to any of them.

Her parents, shaken from their terrified gaze, plastered fake smiles on their faces as they turned to their daughter. "Never mind that, dear," her mother forced out, dishonesty dripping from every word that she produced. "Just go up to your room, now. Your father and I need to talk alone."

About to protest, her father sternly warned her, "Do not even think of trying to eavesdrop on us, Hermione Jean Granger. We know you are a curious child, but," Mr. Granger paused, deciding to change his course of action, "Actually, you absolutely cannot overhear this next conversation. As much as we love you, dear, even you cannot always quench your thirst for knowledge. We are going to leave, and in a couple of hours, we will come back. You will not ask as any questions, and we will not prohibit you from going to Hogwarts."

Without leaving any room for argument, Hermione's parents briskly left, leaving a bewildered Hermione in the living room.

* * *

The days that followed the arrival of the Howler were tense for the Granger family. The strain between Hermione and her parents was palpable, as the two parties were unable to compromise due to their collective obstinacy. Hermione refused to talk to her parents until they told her what the Howler was referring to, and Mr. and Mrs. Granger rejected the thought of acknowledging that the event had even taken place, preferring to act as if everything was normal though it evidently was not. A particularly nasty recurrence of Hermione's nightmare the night before she was due to leave for Hogwarts from King's Cross left the brunette witch sleep-deprived and irritable the next morning. In addition to the tortured cries of a man echoing through the disused manor, the whispered vows of fealty and dedication voiced by a slippery sounding young man haunted Hermione as she sat in the car en route to King's Cross.

Hermione bid her parents a stiff farewell before boarding the Hogwarts Express, feeling slightly guilty for parting with her parents so coldly even though she wouldn't see them until the next summer, but more angry that they had still insisted on denying her answers. She had met Harry and Ron on the platform, but neglected to contribute to their conversation about what might be happening at Hogwarts, opting to brood about her stubborn parents instead. However, Malfoy's boasting of Durmstrang drew her out of her reverie.

"Shh!" Hermione whispered suddenly, motioning to Harry and Ron stop talking. She pressed her ear to the door of the Slytherin's compartment, hearing the familiar drawl of their arch-nemesis.

"…Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts you know. He knows the headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore – the man's such a Mudblood-lover – and Durmstrang doesn't admit that sort of riffraff. But Mother didn't like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually _learn_ them, not just the defense rubbish we do…"

Hermione pulled away, dragging Harry and Ron into the nearest empty compartment. After shutting the door she exhaled loudly, pinching the bridge of her nose. Harry and Ron looked at each other, unsure what to say to their wound-up friend.

"So he thinks Durmstrang would have suited him, does he?" asked Hermione a few minutes later. Not waiting for a response from either of her companions she continued angrily, "I wish he _had_ gone, then we wouldn't have to put up with him at Hogwarts."

"Durmstrang's another wizarding school?" clarified Harry, looking confused. Hermione sighed, frustrated at Harry's ignorance. Did he really think Hogwarts was the only school of magic in Europe? In the world, even?

"Yes," said Hermione sniffily, "and it's got a horrible reputation. According to _An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe_, it puts a lot of emphasis on Dark Arts."

"I think I've heard Dad mention it a few times," Ron said vaguely. "It's not in the country though, is it?"

"Well, nobody knows, do they?" answered Hermione, raising her eyebrows. "But one can only assume that it isn't seeing as all the wizards around here are educated at Hogwarts."

"Er – why doesn't anyone know for sure?" questioned Harry, still confused.

"There's traditionally been a lot of rivalry between all the magic schools, like Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. They conceal their locations so that no one can still their secrets," stated Hermione matter-of-factly.

"Come off it Hermione," Ron laughed, "Durmstrang's got to be about the same size as Hogwarts. They can't just hide a place as huge as the castle!"

"Well, Ron, if you had read _Hogwarts, A History_, you would know that wizards can cast charms over buildings to make them look abandoned to muggles, or render them Unplottable on maps!" Hermione explained, exasperated. She proceeded to filter out Ron's plans of pushing Malfoy off an iceberg, her anxiety over her parents' secrets returning. Why wouldn't they tell her what was wrong? Was she really that untrustworthy? She had been honest with her parents, why couldn't they treat her the same way?

Her encounter with the silvery blonde in the forest also nagged at the corners of the young witch's mind. Not a day had gone by since that meeting did she dwell on those soft lips envelope her own. As much as Hermione wanted to deny it, the kiss was not unpleasant, and the circumstances surrounding it made the brunette wonder why she had been following her in the first place. It was with these two issues that Hermione entered her fourth year at Hogwarts.

* * *

The first few weeks of the new term passed without incident, save for Dumbledore's controversial announcement of the Hogwarts' hosting of the Triwizard Tournament. Personally, Hermione thought the goals of international magical cooperation to be noble, but the potentially lethal methods employed in the tournament to be misguided. As for the age restriction, the intellectual brunette witch found it to be the most sensible decision if they insisted on preserving the barbaric tournament format. Only those who were legally old enough to decide should be able to gamble their very lives for wealth and "eternal glory".

Hermione was currently on her way to a Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson with the new instructor, former auror Mad-Eye Moody, whom the brunette was more than a little skeptical of. To be fair, following the brilliant teaching of Lupin was going to be a difficult task anyway, but Professor Moody was a little too enthusiastic for her own liking. His lack of boundaries worried Hermione to say the least, and she wondered about his mental stability on more than a few occasions. However, even the rule-abiding Miss Granger felt that his transfiguration of Malfoy into a ferret was well-deserved.

When Hermione entered the classroom, though, she couldn't help but feel perturbed at the sight of three large black spiders desperately trying to find a way out of the large jar imprisoning them. Taking her seat, she noticed Ron clutching with his desk as if he were trying to crush it beneath his fingers, looking directly opposite of the jar in the front of the room. Hermione barely stopped herself from giggling, remembering that Ron was deathly afraid of spiders, recalling the boggart's transformation in the same room less than a year ago. Harry seemed to remember this also, a small grin forming on his face as he watched Ron try to distract himself by talking about the latest Chudley Cannon's match.

Moody burst into the classroom a few minutes later, declaring that no books would be needed for the day's lesson. Hermione could only fearfully glance at the jar of spiders as she stowed her copy of _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ back into her bag.

"Curses," announced Moody, striding to the front of the classroom. "They come in many strengths and forms. Now, according to the Ministry, I'm supposed to teach you countercurses and leave it at that. Supposedly, you're not old enough to see what you're protecting yourselves against until your sixth year. However, Dumbledore and I have a higher opinion of your nerves than those politicians. In the real world, a wizard who's about to put an illegal, dark curse on you isn't going to warn you beforehand. You need to be prepared. You need to be alert and watchful. You need to look this way, Mr. Weasley!" roared the scarred professor.

"Yes, sir!" cried Ron, snapping his head back towards the front of the room, averting his gaze from the jar of spiders.

"Mr. Weasley, can you name for us one of the three curses most heavily punished by wizarding law?" asked Moody, slowly unscrewing the jar containing the spiders.

"Er, my dad has mentioned one before…" Ron began tentatively, dreading the progress of the lid's removal. "The Imperius Curse, or something?"

Nodding appreciatively, Moody whipped out his wand and muttered, "_Imperio!_" forcing one of the spiders to jump from the newly opened jar. Quickly closing the container before any of the other spiders could escape, Moody commanded the spider to perform painful feats of acrobatics before the stunned fourth years. Some of the students laughed nervously as the spider cartwheeled across the desk, but Hermione felt the familiar pain in her chest from her dreams returning. Even worse, though, was the feeling of excitement that she couldn't repress as she watched the spider flip in the air. She gasped almost imperceptibly, only Harry noticing the discomfort the brunette was in.

"Total control," explained Moody, guiding the spider back into a different jar. As the spider returned to normal, Hermione felt the pain in her chest subside. "After the fall of the Dark Lord, a lot of witches and wizards claimed they were under the influence of the Imperius Curse. I will be teaching you how to fight it later in the year, but only those with true strength of character will be able to succeed. In real life, just avoid getting hit by the bloody curse. CONSTANT VIGILIANCE!" he barked, bringing back everyone's attention to himself. "Who can tell me another illegal curse?"

To everyone's surprise, and apparently even his own, Neville Longbottom's hand shakily raised in the air. At Moody's approval he volunteered, "The – the Cruciatus Curse."

Taking another spider out of the jar, Moody enlarged the spider, so that the effect would be more apparent he reasoned, before crying, "_Crucio!_"

The spider began to writhe under Moody's wand, twitching unnaturally from side to side, the legs curled tightly into itself. Hermione felt the pain and sick euphoria return as well, grasping the robes above her heart in a futile attempt to alleviate the throbbing and shifting her gaze away from the spider to stop what she could only hope was morbid curiosity. Looking across the room, she noticed Neville's eyes tightly shut, his arms wrapped around himself tightly.

"Stop it!" Hermione gasped out, trying to appear as if she didn't feel like her heart was about to explode. "Can't you see it's hurting him!" _and me_, Hermione thought. Following her demand, Moody levitated the still twitching spider into the other jar. Just as the last time, the pain and excitement receded once the curse was lifted. Puzzled by this reaction, Hermione's eyes widened at the pattern if the final Unforgivable Curse was uttered as Moody taught to the class what the Cruciatus Curse did.

"And the last curse, anyone?" asked Moody preparing to offer up the last spider. Hermione began to panic, she had to exit the classroom before her insane Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher performed the Killing Curse right in front of her. Who knew how she would react to such a display of dark magic? But before she could flee, Seamus quietly said, "_Avada Kedavra_."

As Moody cast the same spell on the last helpless spider, Hermione could almost hear the twisted, jubilant laughter of the figure of her dreams before she felt herself collapse from her seat.

* * *

Hermione awoke tucked neatly into one of the many beds inside of the Hospital Wing, the afternoon sunset leaking in through the windows. Recalling the incident in Moody's class, Hermione bolted up, only realizing her mistake as her vision began to swim from the sudden movement.

"Miss Granger, it is good see you rejoin the realm of conscious," said Dumbledore, amusement laden in his voice. It was only after hearing his voice did Hermione notice the headmaster sitting at her bedside, or that her bed was the only one occupied, a rarity at Hogwarts.

"Though you would most likely desire to leave here immediately and find Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley," continued Dumbledore, motioning to Hermione to stay put, "I have probably put off having this conversation long enough."

"What do you mean, Professor?" asked Hermione, clearly not following the older man's train of thought.

"I know you have been suffering some haunting dreams lately, Miss Granger," revealed Dumbledore, much to Hermione's distress. "And I know that you had some sort of reaction to Professor Moody's demonstration of the Unforgivable Curses today." Hermione rolled her eyes at this statement. Wasn't her presence in the Hospital Wing a testament to that?

"What do those have in common, may I ask?" inquired Hermione, though she knew from the similarity of the pain that she had experienced that they were related. She wanted Dumbledore to just say what he had to say, to not beat around the bush.

"Miss Granger, your parents have been acting strangely all summer," Dumbledore added, throwing Hermione into greater confusion. "All of these things stem from one fact. One fact, Miss Granger, that even you do not know."

"What is it, Professor?" Hermione demanded, impatient. Dumbledore did not need to be pointing out gaps in her knowledge to explain her health issues. If anything, his skirting of the issue was just increasing the labor of her poor heart.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore sighed, his genial façade crumbling away, "you are not the daughter of Walter and Michelle Granger." Before Hermione could say anything, Dumbledore said, "Miss Granger, please just let me say this all at once. You are not even a muggleborn. In fact, you are descended from two houses of ancient lineage. Your mother, Charlotte Gravois, hailed from the noble French house of Gravois, a respected French wizarding family. On that side you even have living relatives, including a grandmother," added Dumbledore, attempting to give the young witch some hope before continuing, "and your father, Tom Marvolo Riddle, had a muggle father and a pureblood mother who was descended from the House of Gaunt, the blood of Salazar Slytherin in their veins. But Tom Riddle went by a more famous name," Dumbledore gripped Hermione's hand before finally saying, "Miss Granger, not only are you the heir of Slytherin, but you are Lord Voldemort's daughter."

* * *

**A/N: **I hope you all liked this plot twist, as I find this scenario to be a fun one to work with. I decided to make Hermione's biological mother French for reasons that will be seen later in the story, but I think you can all guess. Originally this was chapter was going to extend to Beauxbatons' arrival, but it would have ended up too long if I had done that. I also didn't really edit this chapter, it is essentially the first draft. I don't normally like posting these, but I am so excited about finishing it and feel bad for not having updated in a while that I'm hoping you will all just excuse me if I have a few errors here and there. I am going to aim for weekly or biweekly updates for this story for now. Reviews are always welcome!


	3. Avoidance

**Disclaimer: **Nope, I still do not own Harry Potter, not until I legally change my name to J.K. Rowling!

**A/N:** Sorry for the long break in-between updates, but I had exams, went on vacation, became ensnared into reading another fandom, etc. So, I received mainly good feedback from the plot twist at the end of the last chapter (thanks for all of the support and reviews!), and for those of you who kindly voiced your disappointment in this turn of events, I am sorry but respect your tastes. Some premises I just don't jive with, and if Hermione as Voldemort's daughter is one of them, then suit yourself. There is another plot bunny for this pairing hopping around in my brain that doesn't contain this twist, but I won't be writing it until I finish this story, which is to say, in at least a year. Anyway! Hermione's reaction to her heritage and Fleur's arrival at Hogwarts can be found here! Sorry for the rambling again!

* * *

**Chapter 3: Avoidance **

"Untrue," scoffed Hermione, after pondering over Dumbledore's news for a few minutes. "Me being Lord Voldemort's daughter is simply illogical, not to mention a poor attempt at a joke, Professor," chided the young witch with disdain. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the elderly man behind the desk, as if daring him to go further.

"Well, it is true, Hermione," Dumbledore replied softly, a sad smile gracing his features. "You noticed how strangely your parents were behaving this summer. They knew that you would be discovering your true ancestry sometime soon, and they longed to prevent it, to keep you naively under their wings. As they say, ignorance is bliss."

Reluctant understanding dawned on the brunette. As much as she hated it, her brain began making the connections between her parents' overbearing disposition during the summer and her true identity, accompanied by the need to confirm it. "You were the one who sent the Howler?" When Dumbledore nodded in affirmation, irritation took over the witch's face. "You knew about my heritage, then, and so did my parents! What 'promise' did you three make that you threatened them with in your message?" demanded Hermione.

Dumbledore sighed, slowly stroking his beard in an attempt to calm himself. "I did indeed send your parents the Howler. When they first agreed to adopt you almost fourteen years ago, I told them that one day your father would try to steal you away from them, and that they had to promise to allow you to make your own decisions. They swore to me that they would not try to stop you if you decided to leave them."

"Leave them?" repeated Hermione in disbelief. "Are you implying that, if what you've said is true, which I still don't think it is, I would willingly go to Voldemort? What have I done to betray your trust, Headmaster?" Hermione felt aghast, hurt, and confused. She was still unwilling to confront the information being presented before her, instead choosing to think it hypothetical. There was no way that she could be the Dark Lord's daughter, and even a slimmer chance that she would join his cause against her best friend. By giving her a choice to join him, Dumbledore was effectively considering the possibility that she would go over and embrace the Dark. Gryffindors, especially Hermione Granger, didn't do that!

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore said comfortingly, "I have never said that I think you would betray me or anyone else to Voldemort. I merely wanted them to give you the option to return to _either_ of your biological parents. Of course—"

"_Either_ of my biological parents?" questioned Hermione, cutting off the older wizard. "Didn't you just refer to my supposed mother in the past tense? How would I return to her?"

"Well spotted," remarked Dumbledore jovially. Hermione scowled. She could not find it in herself to appreciate the humor in her pedantic grammar habits when her headmaster was trying to throw her entire personal life, her identity, into chaos. "Firstly, though, I can assure you that I am not lying when I say that Charlotte Gravois and Lord Voldemort are your biological parents. So you can stop putting your questions in the hypothetical. And yes, I did refer to Charlotte in the past tense, as she died shortly after giving birth to you. However, as I said, she is survived by quite an extended family, and, should you choose, you could return and acquaint yourself with your maternal relatives."

Hermione sat in silence, attempting to absorb the information that Dumbledore had bombarded her with. It was overwhelming. How was she supposed to believe that the people she thought to be her birth parents had actually adopted her knowing that her biological parents or family members would try to reclaim her in the future? She referred to her muggle parents as her real parents still as they were the ones who raised her. Her biological parents may have contributed to her genetic makeup, but they did not teach her how to talk, walk, or make the right decisions. However, one thing just did not make sense to the young brunette, no matter how she looked at it.

"Professor, how could Voldemort be my father if he should be in his seventies now? Somehow I doubt I was conceived when my parents were in their fifties," asked Hermione, slightly disturbed at the thought. Not many people knew the Dark Lord's true age, but since Dumbledore told Hermione his name used to be Tom Riddle, the owner of the diary that Harry had told her after being revived from the basilisk paralysis, she had looked him up in the Hogwarts Library Yearbook Archives. Having a fifty-year old man father a child was not something she wanted to picture.

"I can assure you, Miss Granger, your mother was only about twenty when she had you, so nothing unnatural there. But you are correct about Voldemort's age, realistically it seems improbable that your mother was impregnated by him. But you have to know that the Dark Lord has always feared death, and used various Dark magic to attempt to create immortality, giving him the appearance of being young," explained Dumbledore.

"So my mother was seduced by Voldemort?" spat Hermione, thoroughly repulsed by the possibility that her mother was attracted to such a monster. She couldn't help but think she was a French version of Bellatrix Lestrange.

"No, Miss Granger. Do you know anything about the Gravois family besides that they are a noble magical French house?" seeing Hermione shake her head, he continued his explanation. "The Gravois family was and still is one of the most influential magical families in France. I believe your uncle is currently the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation in the French Ministry, and a few of your ancestors have been Minister. Despite their political clout and pureblood status, however, they are relatively liberal in terms of magical creature rights and blood purity. They continued to exercise these beliefs during the First Wizarding War, and incurred the Dark Lord's wrath. He kidnapped and raped your mother, Miss Granger. She was not seduced."

Hermione was incapable of replying. What does one say when they find out that not only was the family they knew not really theirs, but that their mother was raped by the most hated and dangerous man in the world? Hermione gripped the starched sheets of her Hospital Wing bed, attempting to process the constant flow of unpleasant information. With her mind being as efficient as it was, she soon pointed out a hole in her knowledge. "And Voldemort just let me be? Surely he would come for me to at least kill the offspring of his shamed victim."

Looking into the distance, Dumbledore replied, "He was actually thrilled to hear that he had an heir by a powerful, and more importantly, pureblooded witch. It actually killed two birds with one stone, seeing as he had punished the Gravois and created a successor. As with most of Slytherin's descendants, Voldemort too was eager to continue the line. I remember that day clearly, as he had killed 19 aurors in celebration of your birth, including Edgar Bones. He let the Gravoirs keep you until the end of the war, probably hoping to cause them more emotional turmoil by ripping you away from them, but was stopped by Harry. The Gravois family agreed to let you live in obscurity during your childhood before reacquainting with them once you learned your true identity. You had all been through so much," sighed Dumbledore.

Hermione was growing increasingly confused. "You mentioned my nightmares, Professor. What do they have to do with my royally screwed up family?"

Dumbledore smiled softly at Hermione's description of her family situation, but it did not reach his eyes. Stroking his beard again, Dumbledore explained, "You are, Ms. Granger, whether you like it or not, Voldemort's sole heir, a descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself. Voldemort is a skilled user of both Occlumency and Legilimency. I trust you know what those are?"

"Yes, Legilimency is a charm that allows the caster to navigate through another's mind, and Occlumency is the counter-spell used to shield oneself from it," recited Hermione without a second thought.

"Well done," commended Dumbledore, though his face seemed pained. "As I was saying, Voldemort is skilled in both of these. He knows of your existence, and it seems he plans on seeking you out. Because of your blood connection to him, it makes Legilimency much easier to cast and far more powerful on you. Your nightmares are, if my theory is correct, the connection between your two minds, almost."

Hermione shuddered. "So my reactions to the Unforgivables in class were due to Voldemort's own close association to them?"

"It would seem like it, although we cannot be sure," confirmed Dumbledore.

"But this won't happen every time I see someone cast an Unforgiveable Curse, though, will it? Because that could be very cumbersome in a duel," clarified Hermione.

"Do you intend on dueling anyone who would cast an Unforgiveable on you, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked with a slight chuckle.

"Well, no," sheepishly admitted Hermione, before firing back, "Well, I could be now that I have the Dark Lord as a father!"

Dumbledore frowned again. "Yes, you will now be at a higher risk now that you know your true heritage. However, I do not know the answer. We could test it right now, but I see neither the occasion nor the urgency to do it in the Hospital Wing with you still recovering. Do not worry about it for now," comforted the older wizard.

Something about the Headmaster's tone irked Hermione, even though the rational part of her brain knew that he was just trying to soften the blow that her father was the most hated man on Earth. Maybe it wasn't Dumbledore, Hermione reasoned, perhaps everything was just now starting to get to her. "How can I _not_ worry about it, Professor?" asked Hermione scathingly. "My 'parents' neglected to tell me that I'm not really theirs, my mother is dead, and my father has killed more people than he can count!" Hermione gasped. "Oh Merlin…" the young witch breathed, tears starting to well up in her eyes. "My own father killed Harry's parents! He'll never talk to me again!" As she quietly sobbed into the sheets, Hermione once again berated herself for failing to notice this monumental detail until now. After all, Harry's fame stemmed from being the only one to survive Voldemort.

Dumbledore sighed, pulling the crying brunette into his embrace. "Just let it all out, Hermione."

And that's what the young, intelligent, confused witch did for the next hour before sinking into a troubled slumber.

* * *

The next couple of weeks were filled with emotional torment for Hermione, though anyone observing the young brunette would have called her robotic. After waking up alone in the Hospital Wing, Hermione was discharged and left to her own devices. She had the rest of the day off, and decided to catch up on the coursework she had missed when she was in bed, but as soon as she opened her copy of _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ to write an essay, she broke down. How could the world be so unfair as to not only serve her a lie for the first 14 years of her life regarding her parents, but for her birth mother to have been raped by Voldemort? Now she was gone, and her only parent was the one person she, and most others, wanted dead. How could she even continue to socialize with her friends knowing that she was the child of a monster, that her own father had killed some of their loved ones? Hermione couldn't stomach it, and promptly began throwing up most everything that she tried to consume.

The nightmares had also made an unwelcome comeback after her conversation with Dumbledore, hitting her almost every night with heart stopping horrors. The relentless flashes of green light, the blood-curdling screams, the maniacal laughter, the pathetic whimpering, it was too much for Hermione. She would wake up panting, or on occasion screaming, once gathering the attention of the entire girl's dormitory. After that incident, Hermione made sure to shut the curtains around her four-poster and cast a silencing charm around it before attempting to sleep every night. However, Hermione found it difficult to fall back asleep after such psychological horror, and soon began dreading sleep at all. The bags began to form under her eyes, and the excuse of studying late into the night was beginning to get old, even for the renowned bookworm.

Ginny was the first person to notice the brunette's physical and emotional decline, as soon as lessons ended that day. However, whenever she brought it up, Hermione would just skirt the issue or physically escape. Harry and Ron were a bit oblivious, and didn't recognize any change in their longtime friend until Ron tried to copy her Potions essay and realized that even she hadn't started it yet. To say they were shocked was an understatement.

"Bloody hell, Hermione, what's gotten into you?" exclaimed Ron as he stared at Hermione's blank parchment. "You should have had this essay finished days ago!"

"Sorry, _Ronald_," Hermione emphasized Ron's full name, as she had been doing since her discovery of her heritage in an effort to distance herself from her friends, "but even I haven't had the time to do it. I've had a lot on my mind…" she said as she drifted back into her self-loathing.

"What could have possibly distracted you enough that even the great Hermione Granger, 'brightest witch of her year', is scrambling to finish her homework?" sarcastically questioned Ron.

Hermione winced. "Nothing that concerns you, Ronald," she answered softly.

"What was that, I couldn't hear you, 'Mione!" yelled Ron, in an attempt to draw attention to Hermione's uncharacteristic procrastination.

"Knock it off, Ron!" scolded Ginny, coming to her friend's aid. "Can't you see something is really troubling her?"

"What is it, 'Mione? You know you can tell us," coaxed Harry.

Harry's pleadings just exacerbated Hermione's guilt. How could she tell him that she just discovered that her father killed his parents? It would destroy their friendship, something that Hermione couldn't bear to have happen. She had struggled so much in her first year at Hogwarts to make friends, only befriending Harry and Ron after the troll incident. Once she lost Harry, she would immediately lose Ron, and while she wasn't too upset at the prospect, losing Ron would probably mean losing the friendship of Ginny, her only female friend. That, she could not allow, and therefore settled with strained and distanced friendships with all of them instead of losing them forever.

"Nothing, Harry," Hermione insisted, although unconvincingly.

Dumbledore hadn't spoken to Hermione since dropping the psychological bomb, irritating Hermione to no end. He was the one who had ruined what little stability she had in her life, and in her mind, he had not taken responsibility for his actions. When she had tried to approach him for more clear answers, he simply replied, "Help will be on the way, Miss Granger." The cryptic nature of his reassurance, and the lack of immediate aid, caused Hermione to fall into deeper despair, her brain unable to cope with the disgusting existence of herself.

* * *

The pattern of Hermione's deterioration and withdrawal continued until the day before Halloween. Hermione had been lifelessly walking down the corridor when she was bumped by an eager group of first years rushing out to the Black Lake. It was then that she noticed a large group forming by the lakeside, a majority of them squinting into the distance. Wondering what they were looking for, and with such fervor, Hermione recalled the announcement Dumbledore had made saying that two delegations of students, one from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic in France and the other from Durmstrang Institute in the north, rumored to be Norway were arriving to partake in the Triwizard Tournament. She had no real desire to gawk at the foreign students, but decided to just blend in with the crowd instead of fighting the foot traffic back up to Gryffindor Tower.

Hermione was standing off to the side, leaning against a tree trunk when a quickly growing speck appeared in the distance.

"It's a dragon!" shrieked an overexcited first year from within the crowd. Hermione sighed in disbelief. How could anyone think that a school would be coming via dragon? Judging from the direction the speck originated from, the delegation was most likely from Beauxbatons and would therefore be coming via abraxan-drawn carriage.

Hermione's theory was soon proven correct as a large pale blue carriage led by large, white, winged horses landed in front of the spectators, the Beauxbatons' crest emblazoned on the side. The abraxans stood at elegant attention as a boy in pale blue robes leapt from the driver's seat and opened the door with a bow. A large, well-built woman challenging the height of Hagrid emerged from within, wrapped in a long robe of black satin. As she walked towards Dumbledore, the rest of the Beauxbatons delegation alighted from the carriage, each clad in fashionable but impractically thin powder blue silk robes. They looked freezing as soon as they made contact with the cold, late autumn English air, but tried to carry themselves with dignity as they followed the giant woman.

Hermione scoffed from her vantage point against the tree. She thought that the French students were being excessively prideful and snobbish, insisting on wearing their silk robes in the cold like they enjoyed it. The brunette stared in disdain as the giant woman addressed "Dumbly-dorr" and identified herself as the Headmistress of Beauxbatons, Madame Maxime, as wells as reminding the bearded wizard that the steeds that had pulled her carriage only drank single-malt whiskey. To say that they were pampered would have given their maintenance injustice. But as Hermione continued to scan the French students as they made their way to the Great Hall to warm up, she caught sight of a familiar shock of silvery blonde hair. She was about to dismiss her ludicrous assumption that she had last seen that mane of hair in the forests at the Quidditch World Cup, when the head spun around and piercingly gazed into the brunette's tired chocolate brown eyes. Hermione's breathing hitched, but at the same time she felt her heart rate begin to slow, and the taut muscles, which had been constantly tensed since the revelation of her origin, began to relax. The blonde did not seem unaffected either, as she stopped in her tracks, causing the girl behind her to crash into her back. They whispered frantically with each other, the deep blue eyes never leaving her own, until the other girl practically dragged her within the castle.

When the Durmstrang delegation sprung up in a ship from beneath the Black Lake's surface, Hermione was still staring at the spot where the blonde Beauxbatons student had stood. She couldn't stop picturing those stunning cerulean orbs looking into her very soul when the Durmstrang students, led by the legendary Bulgarian seeker Viktor Krum, strode before the crowd before entering the castle. When she met up with Harry, Ron, and Ginny at the Gryffindor table for the welcoming feast, Hermione tried her best to maintain civil conversation while coming to terms that the woman who had assaulted her lips during the Quidditch World Cup was actually a student at Beauxbatons and staring at her from her seat at the Ravenclaw table.

"What's _that_?" asked Ron, pointing at a large dish of shellfish stew that stood beside a large steak-and-kidney pudding. Hermione sighed, spooning herself some of the offending dish as she averted her eyes from Ron's unseemly consumption of black pudding.

"Bouillabaisse," she answered, gently bringing her spoon to her lips. Hermione seriously doubted she would be able to keep the food down, as she hadn't been able to eat anything but a few rolls in the past week, but something about the blonde's gaze across the hall urged her to try anyway.

"Bless you," said Ron, grabbing a few legs of fried chicken.

"It's _French_," informed Hermione, disappointed in her friend's lack of international cuisine. "I had it on holiday summer before last. It's very nice."

"I'll take your word for it," acquiesced Ron, as he barbarically ripped the chicken meat from the bone.

"Honestly, Ron, you need to branch out a little, maybe even travel outside of England and learn more about the world," chided Hermione, though her tone was laced with resign. "Then maybe your table manners would…"

Hermione's words trailed off as she noticed her blonde attacker getting up from the Ravenclaw bench and making her way towards them. Inwardly, Hermione hoped that it was just a coincidence, that it looked like she was walking in their direction but was actually headed to mingle with the Durmstrangs, but the intelligent brunette knew deep down that this was not the case. The mysterious girl's gaze never left her own, a situation that would have normally caused the newly enlightened Hermione to flee. However, the brunette could not will her body to leave, though her brain was in turmoil as to how to confront the other girl. Hermione still had not come to a conclusion by the time the older blonde reached their group.

"Excuse me, are you wanting ze bouillabaisse?" she asked Hermione. The last time the two had been so close was in the dark forest, making it hard for Hermione to discern anything about the girl except for her silky hair and soulful eyes. Now in the well-lit hall, Hermione was able to take in her succulent lips, porcelain skin, long lashes, and perfectly white teeth. Using all of her mental facilities to stop herself from gaping, it became obvious that Ron did not possess the same, as his face turned purple and started to emit a worrying gurgling noise.

Harry stepped in for his floundering friends, brusquely replying, "Yeah, have it," while pushing the dish at her.

"You 'ave finished wiz it?" clarified the French witch, her accent prominent. Hermione couldn't stop herself from thinking it dangerously attractive, causing her to turn away in self-horror.

"Yeah," Ron managed breathlessly. "Yeah, it was excellent."

Despite all of her embarrassment, Hermione couldn't stop herself from biting out, "Because you totally ate some of it, Ronald."

As Ron turned an even darker shade of purple, the blonde grinned wryly at Hermione. Causing a healthier pink blush to emerge from the brunette's cheeks, the older witch's grin evolved into a stunning, teeth-displaying smile as she picked up the dish and carried it back to the Ravenclaw table. Harry began to laugh as Ron continued to purple. The sound seemed to jar him from his senses as he finally took a much needed gulp of oxygen.

"She's a veela!" he exclaimed hoarsely to Harry.

Hermione was about to let loose another scathing retort when she saw the most other males in attendance gawking at the French girl like rabid dogs. Hermione slowly began to panic again as she came to the possible conclusion that she had been kissed by a veela. Before she could make anymore assumptions she needed research, and Hermione was not comfortable leaving it to be done later. Abruptly getting up from the table, the brunette witch quickly strode out of the bustling feast.

"Hermione, where are you going?" called Ginny, concern lacing her voice. Hermione neglected to answer, electing to run her hand through her tangled mane instead. If Hermione thought her life was already complicated, adding a veela into the mix was not making it any better. Or at least that was what Hermione thought.

* * *

Hermione holed herself up more than usual in the library for the next few days, reading all that she could about veela. It was a welcome distraction from her normal dwelling on her parental situation, and her nightmares seemed to come less frequently, but she was actively avoiding the elder blonde witch ever since their encounter with the bouillabaisse. It wasn't that she was afraid of the veela's charms, because even if she was a veela, a fact that she had not yet confirmed, the charms of attraction would not affect her, unless she was her chosen, which she could not believe to be true. It was mainly because she was unsure of how to talk to her, to confirm what had happened in the forest was true. Hermione was both yearning for resolution and afraid to learn that she had been a toy, a distraction for the sexual beast. Despite the veela charms ineffectiveness on her, she was still attracted to the French witch, and Hermione was really trying to put off the inevitable rejection she would be faced with. That seemed to be all that Hermione focused on recently, avoiding the inescapable rejection of her peers.

The blonde witch was not making the task of evading her easy for Hermione, as she was actively searching for her both personally and through her friends. More than once Ginny relayed a message that Fleur Delacour, chosen champion of Beauxbatons for the Triwizard Tournament, was looking for her. And more than once Hermione retreated to an obscure hideaway. Concealment became more difficult after Rita Skeeter's article was published, becoming the victim of increasingly persistent verbal harassment about her looks. Slightly sardonically Hermione was amused that she was assaulted the most by the Slytherins, who probably would not have dared to say anything disrespectful to her if they knew who her father was. That amusement soon dissipated as Hermione became disgusted with her traitorous thoughts about using her biological father's name to instigate fear.

The astronomy tower had become Hermione's latest place of refuge, and it was there that the brunette found herself in a familiar state of self-loathing. She was still berating herself about the Voldemort intimidation idea, but also her recent treatment of her friends. Ever since Harry's name had shot out of the Goblet of Fire, Ron had been suspicious and irritable, abandoning Harry for the company of Dean and Seamus. It should have been Hermione that went and comforted him, took up the responsibility of getting the two back together, but instead she avoided him too. Ginny was doing as best as she could, but she hadn't known Harry like Hermione did, but here she was, selfishly wallowing in self-pity for the fourth week coming. Harry didn't even know about her heritage, and at this point it would have been more selfish of her to dump the burden on him now than letting him live in ignorant bliss. She should have told him earlier, before his name had come out of the Goblet, that it was her father who killed his parents, but she had been too cowardly.

In this depreciating frame of mind, Hermione looked out at the starry sky forlornly. Moving towards the window frame, she gripped the edges and thrust her head outside, sucking in the crisp night air. Letting the cool air refresh her mind, Hermione was startled by the soft clearing of a throat behind her. Surprised to find anyone up in the tower at such a late hour, Hermione almost fell out the window. Luckily, the person behind her grasped her shoulders and pulled her back inside, spinning her around so that they were face-to-face.

"I 'ave finally got you, 'Ermione Granger," declared Fleur Delacour with a smirk.

* * *

**A/N:** So, it's a bit of a cliff-hanger, but since it is the summer I should be updating more frequently, so hopefully this isn't a problem. I know the info-dump in the beginning was a little unseemly, but with Hermione being the insatiable academic that she is, I think that the bombardment of information was more her style. Our Hermione has fallen into a bit of severe depression brought on by identity crisis, but hopefully the appearance and actual conversation with Fleur will bring her out of it soon! I'm not overall pleased with this chapter, but I felt that you guys deserved an update so I did my best with it… Reviews are always welcome!


	4. Revelations and the First Task!

**Disclaimer: **Still don't own Harry Potter... I'm just playing with J.K. Rowling's characters!

**A/N: **Wow, another chapter within the same week? Unheard of for me! I was just so excited to write this part that I had to stop all that I was doing to do it. The last of the information dump will be occurring in the first part of this chapter, and then we can enjoy the loveliness that is Fleur, Hermione, and the First Task!

* * *

**Chapter 4: Revelations (and the First Task)**

"I 'ave finally got you, 'Ermione Granger," declared Fleur Delacour with a smirk.

"F-fleur Delacour!" nervously exclaimed Hermione as she slowly inched up the staircase of the astronomy tower, both distancing herself and the French witch and placing a firm wall at her back.

"I do 'ope you are not trying to leave so soon, going up zose stairs like zat," Fleur pointed out as she too ascended the stairs.

As much as Hermione expected to be nervous at the Beauxbatons student's appearance in the tower, she could feel nothing but calm and attraction towards the blonde witch. Straightening up her posture on the stairs, she astutely retorted, "Of course not, I was just trying to not fall out the window. Besides, it's not like there is anywhere to escape from at the top of the highest tower in the school!"

Fleur merely shrugged. "I am not familiar wiz ze entire castle, and I 'ave 'eard zat you are an exceptionally smart witch. I would not put it past you to find a way out. You 'ave been avoiding me quite diligently ever since I 'ave been 'ere."

At that comment, Hermione blushed guiltily. Trying to change the subject, she asked, "How do you know my name? I know yours since you've been chosen as the Beauxbatons champion for the tournament, but I haven't introduced myself to you."

"As I 'ave said, 'Ermione, you 'ave quite ze reputation. Wiz 'Arry being chosen as a fourth champion, it became easy to find out who you were," answered Fleur lightly. "Are you sure you are not trying to escape me?" the French beauty asked, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

"I, erm, no, of course not," Hermione stammered out. Though her body was relaxed, her mind was still unsure of how to approach the veela, going by their unconfirmed past history. "It's just that, you keep coming closer to me, so I keep backing away."

"And why would you be doing that, 'Ermione?" questioned Fleur as she continued to close the gap between them. "You are not afraid of me, are you?" Fleur asked, the first time since speaking the older witch sounded nervous. 'Owever briefly I starred in zat melodramatic Skeeter woman's news article, you must 'ave 'eard, at least from 'Arry, zat I am part veela."

"No, it isn't that," reassured Hermione, though she couldn't tell why exactly she felt the need to calm the French witch's insecurities. "I just can't help but think you were the one I encountered in the woods during the Quidditch World Cup this summer. Because if you are, I have enough reason, don't you think?"

Hermione halted her advance up the stairs, mostly because her back had slammed into the door leading up to the roof. With her words, Hermione observed Fleur's crystal blue eyes begin to darken as her pupils turned a lustrous gold. The blonde witch continued to close the gap between them until the younger brunette could feel the witch's breath tickling her cheek. Mesmerized by those smoldering eyes, Hermione could not resist when the French witch's soft lips descended upon her own, sucking gently on her bottom lip before greedily pressing forward. When she felt the blonde's tongue pushing for entrance into her mouth, Hermione readily complied, too encapsulated by the feelings of desire, the yearning she had for the Beauxbatons student, but also the want, the need she could feel rolling off the older witch. Only when the need for oxygen began too overwhelming did the two part, Hermione noticing that Fleur's eyes had returned to their normal piercing blue. Fleur smiled wryly, exposing her pearly teeth.

"Does that answer your question?" she asked rhetorically, her voice low and seductive, at least in Hermione's opinion.

Hermione's mind could not function properly, not after that breathtaking kiss. She had obviously kissed back that time, and enjoyed it immensely if she was being honest with herself. The fact that she had just been snogged by one of the most sought after females on the grounds of Hogwarts did not escape her either. Her mind unable to cope with this new development only managed to eek out the question, "Why me?"

Fleur tucked a lock of her silvery hair behind her ear as she answered her question with another, "You know much about ze veela, no?"

Hermione nodded, thinking back to the numerous tomes she had read on the magical creatures, recalling the mostly vague descriptions they had recorded on their rituals. Fleur grinned, obviously impressed, although Hermione couldn't see why, given that the French witch had assumed that she already knew about her kind.

"Of course," continued Fleur, "ze books or ze teachers do not do ze topic justice if zey are not veela zemselves. 'Owever, every book, no matter ze quality, outlines ze veela's thrall," Fleur stated. Hermione couldn't help but notice that "thrall" was the only English word with a "th" that Fleur had actually pronounced correctly. The brunette puzzled herself sometimes, why in Merlin's name would she take note of the elder witch's speaking quirks? "As you must know, 'Ermione, ze veela thrall does not work on females," Fleur smiled, with the nervousness that made Hermione anxious, "except if zeir mate is female." Fleur looked pointedly at Hermione at the same time the younger witch felt a wave of lust crash upon her. "You felt zat, no? I 'ave kissed you, 'Ermione Granger, both ("th" at the end of words were also pronounced correctly) in ze woods during ze World Cup and right now, because you are my soul mate."

Hermione, quite frankly, was flabbergasted. She had been unwilling to entertain this possibility in her reading, unable to accept the idea right up until Fleur had thrown her lust at her. Of course, the French witch's explanation made sense, perfect sense, really, but Hermione was not prepared to be something else other than Hermione Granger, self-loathing daughter of the Dark Lord, and even with that identity she was struggling. "What exactly does that mean?" asked Hermione tentatively. "You said the books were not always accurate, and I have to admit they were vague about this part."

"Why yes, I am not surprised zey are. Only a veela would be able to explain it," replied Fleur with an uneasy chuckle. Hermione became more anxious. If the blonde was unsettled by something, a witch who always exuded confidence, it was bound to make the Gryffindor's stomach churn. Her fears were confirmed when Fleur said, "A veela, no matter 'ow promiscuous zey are portrayed in literature or by 'umans, mates for life. Zeir mate is ze only one able to complete zem, quite literally a soul mate. Once meeting zeir mate, ze veela is unable to mate with anozzer, wizout significant repercussions to zeir 'ealth, zat is. Zey share an unbreakable bond between zem. Put simply, a veela cannot live wizout zeir mate. You are my mate, 'Ermione Granger. I can feel it wizin my very being," Fleur told Hermione, fear lightly shading her azure orbs.

"Oh," Hermione said dumbly, trying to process the information. She questioned her renowned brain, as it seemed unable to understand monumental changes in her life at a reasonable speed. Hermione actually felt bad for Fleur, she was mated to Lord Voldemort's daughter! It sounded like she didn't have much choice in the matter, and being tied to the most hated man in the world's daughter seemed like a cruel twist of fate, at least to Hermione. "Are you sure that I am you mate?" asked Hermione, inwardly hoping to relieve Fleur of that doomed life.

"It is undeniable," replied Fleur with conviction. She gripped the Gryffindor's hand in her own, Hermione noting how smooth and warm they were. "I promise you it is nozing bad."

Hermione let out a strangled laugh. "It's not me you should be worried about," said the emotionally muddled brunette. Her throat tightened up again as she prepared to reveal to Fleur what she couldn't even bring herself to tell her best friends. "It's you. You're mated to Lord Voldemort's daughter," she spat, tears welling in her eyes. However, Hermione refused to let them fall, instead tearing her hand from the other girl's. "You don't deserve to be tied to such a damned existence," she said bitterly, side-stepping the blonde's speechless form as she exited the astronomy tower.

* * *

It had been a couple of uneventful days since Fleur had cornered Hermione in the astronomy tower that night, and from the French witch's behavior, Hermione was beginning to question whether that night had happened at all. They had not spoken to each other at all since then, and while Hermione could still feel the veela's gaze on her in the Great Hall or in the corridors, it was nothing different from before their confrontation. Judging from the lack of whispering, the Gryffindor guessed that Fleur had also chosen to keep the brunette's identity to herself, something that increased her skepticism that the evening even existed. Wouldn't someone as showy as Fleur reveal something as monumental as her decrepit heritage? At least whisper it to a friend, fuelling the rumor mill? In any case, Hermione sighed resignedly, turning the page of her Charms book. She had finished her essay on Summoning Charms long ago, but she was not eager to leave her seat in the library, where she could find solace in the musty tomes of knowledge. They, at least, would not alienate her for who she was. Although she was loathe to admit it, Hermione was disappointed that she had lost a potential relationship with the veela, cursing her father's existence. However, it was for the best, seeing as anyone closely associated with her would constantly be put into danger.

"Excusez-moi," rang out the voice of the person she had been thinking of, "Could you please show me where I could find a book on English 'Istory?" she inquired in a lofty tone.

Hermione turned around to see Fleur Delacour standing behind her, nose turned up and arms crossed over her chest haughtily. Hermione was about to lift her arm and point the way so she could free herself from the presence of one who so obviously disliked her, when she saw the optimism shining in Fleur's crystal blue eyes. Hoping that she interpreted the look correctly, she said in an equally audible voice, "Of course, follow me."

The History section of the library was quite the distance from the Charms section, and almost always empty. History of Magic was not one of the more popular subjects, and since it was located near the small Muggle Studies section, hardly twenty people stepped into the area every year, Hermione being one of the few. As she reached up to retrieve the massive 58th edition of _A History of Magical England_ Fleur bent down and whispered in her ear, "I do not mind."

Hermione yelped in surprise, almost dropping the large book as she spun around to face the solemn face of the Beauxbatons student. "What do you mean?" asked Hermione, thinking that she meant what book she was choosing but hoping that she meant something else entirely. She pushed the thought away, not wanting to get her almost nonexistent hopes up.

"I mean," Fleur clarified in a low voice, feigning interest in the book as a couple of Hufflepuffs passed by, "zat I do not mind if your fazzer is ze Dark Lord. From your public identity as a muggleborn, your fervent beliefs in magical creature rights, and your own self-loazing, I can tell you are nozzing like zat 'orrible man." Closing the book and tucking it under her arm, Fleur said in a louder voice, "Merci, zis will do fine. Could you show me 'ow to check zis out?"

"Sure, follow me," Hermione said so that any potential eavesdroppers would hear her. She was inwardly relieved to hear the other girl's sentiments, but her logical and controlling side refused to commit to anything that would expose anyone to Voldemort. Hermione did not want to let the girl into her dark existence, knowing association with her could be harmful, but at the same time she wanted someone to support her through it all. However, she could not ask Fleur to be that someone. As the pair walked slowly to the front desk Fleur imperceptibly whispered to her, "I still 'ope you would consider being my mate."

Leading Fleur to Madame Pince's desk to check out, Hermione murmured in an equally indiscreet manner, "I can't, I don't want to hurt you," before leaving.

* * *

Hermione had no time to sort out her thoughts like she had wanted to, however, as soon found herself with Harry in an empty classroom, books and quills scattered haphazardly around him. Soon after she had abandoned Fleur in the library, Hermione had rushed to Herbology, where she learned over a Flutterby Bush that Harry had only just discovered what the First Task was, and how he was planning to win it. Though she had been an unreliable friend to Harry as of late, wanting to distance herself from him in an effort to make telling him the truth about her father, whenever that would be, easier, Ron had been worse. His jealousy still rampant over Harry's unwilling entry into the Triwizard Tournament, Ron had not yet come to his senses, and Harry was too obstinate to go to him to mend the relationship. Hermione, familiar with Ron's thickheadedness, understood Harry's reasoning, and while she was annoyed that it took him so long to find out what he had to do, she was still one of his best friends and agreed to help him learn how to cast a foolproof Summoning Charm. What kind of friend would she be to let Harry go against a dragon unprepared?

However, as the daylight died and moonlight leaked in through the windows of the Gryffindor common room, Hermione was beginning to fatigue. They had shifted locations after Peeves decided to throw chairs at them, and had been in the common room for at least four hours. As the clock struck two, Harry tiredly cried, "Accio Dictionary!"

The dictionary that Hermione had been holding flew out of her hands and into Harry's outstretched one. Hermione let out a sigh of relief, watching Harry excitedly thumb through the pages of her dictionary as if he were checking if what he had just accomplished was real. It wasn't as if Harry would have been interested in a dictionary otherwise.

"Harry, I really think you've got it!" the tired brunette congratulated.

"Just as long as it works tomorrow," Harry replied, putting the dictionary down. "The Firebolt's going to be much farther away than the stuff here, it's going to be in the castel, and I'm going to be out on the grounds…" the dark-haired boy trailed off, becoming overwhelmed by the odds.

Hermione was proud of Harry for thinking so far ahead, for thinking of the circumstances that would be surrounding him during the First Task, but from her long experience of planning and foresight, she knew that right now her friend needed confidence and sleep, neither of which would be achieved with his worrying. "That doesn't matter," assured Hermione firmly, "just as long as you're concentrating really, really, hard on it, it'll come. Come on," she waved at him to get up, "we'd better get some sleep…" Hermione told him, hoping that she would be spared the nightmares tonight. "You're going to need it."

* * *

Taking her seat in the rapidly filling stadium, Hermione could not stop her hands from fidgeting. Emotionally she was all over the place, worried for Harry, who had only managed to eat a few mouthfuls of toast before the task, who had just managed to cast a decent Summoning Charm, who was constantly getting himself into life-threatening situations. She was worried for Fleur, who, according to Harry, probably knew about the dragons from Madame Maxime, but was nonetheless in the same danger as Harry. She was also still confused about her feelings for the French witch, as she had vowed not to get close to her to protect her from herself, but at the same time longed for her, a hollowness making itself present in her chest when she thought about giving her up. Hermione was angry at Ron, who was still stubbornly ignoring Harry, ignorantly believing he put his own name in the Goblet. She was feeling guilty about evading Ginny so much, realizing how persistent the younger ginger had been trying to get her to open up, to heal. But as she took her seat beside the third year, she told herself that she wasn't ready, that she was protecting them all. But Hermione was also trying to quell her disgust, not at any person in particular, except for maybe Ludo Bagman, who announced with glee that the First Task required the champions to retrieve a golden egg from the nest of a mother dragon. Was the man a sadist? She thought that he, as well as the whooping crowd, deserved to be locked up, harboring such barbaric desires. A tournament promoting adolescents to battle overprotective dragons seemed more than dated, in Hermione's opinion, and she made it known to Ginny.

"Don't worry, 'Mione," comforted Ginny, who looked happy that the brunette had spoken to her of her own will for once, "Harry will be fine."

Little did she know that she feared more Fleur's safety than Harry's, however horrible that seemed to her. She couldn't help it though, something in her made her fiercely protective of Fleur's well-being. Hermione wondered if it had anything to do with the veela's apparent bond with her. At least the Gryffindor knew what Harry had planned to do to face his dragon, she had no idea if what Fleur was going to do would work. She chastised herself, reminding herself that Fleur was two years older than her, that she had a wealth more magical knowledge than she did. However, that did little to reassure her as she watched with horror as Cedric Diggory attempted to lure his Swedish Short-Snout away from the eggs by transfiguring a rock into a Labrador. Hermione knew that it would not work completely, as Swedish Short-Snouts were notorious for their short attention spans, and she was gruesomely proven correct when the dragon changed its mind half way towards the dog, catching Cedric with flames as he swiped the egg. Clutching his face in agony, his free hand gripped the egg as he took cover behind some rocks. As some wizards appeared to lead the dragon away, Hermione desperately hoped that would be the worst of the casualties.

Fleur's name was the next announced over the roar of the crowds, and Hermione saw her emerge into the arena wearing a silver dueling top and navy pants, her wand clutched in her left hand, exuding an aura of confidence. However, as their eyes met, Hermione could sense the nervousness that permeated through the other girl's body. She in turn tried to send the blonde whatever courage she could muster, which in theory should have been a lot seeing as she was a Gryffindor. Fleur seemed to notice something at least, as she grinned at Hermione before turning her attention to the Welsh Green that was being led into the arena by the wizard support crew. The brunette watched in nervous anticipation as Fleur charmed the dragon into a trance, stealthily making her way to the nest housing the golden egg. Her breathing escalated rapidly, one could say that she was almost at the point of hyperventilation. She gasped, probably louder than the rest of the crowd, when a stray jet of flame shot out of the dragon's nostril, burning Fleur's back. Despite the pain that Hermione could have sworn she herself felt, Fleur held up the egg to the audience as the Welsh Green was dragged away. Only when Fleur had retreated into the First Aid Tent did Hermione notice the blood leaking from her hands, coating her fingers and palms. She had been clenching her fists so hard it seemed her nails had dug their way deep into her flesh. Had she been worried about Fleur that much? Was it really wise to deny her feelings for the other girl? At a loss for words, Hermione stared mutely at her bleeding hands, not able to decide how to deal with them. It was then that Ginny noticed them too.

"Bloody hell, Hermione, what happened?" cried Ginny over the roar of the crowd, eagerly waiting for Viktor Krum's turn. "What did you do to your hands?"

"Erm, just a case of nerves. Really, Ginny, it's not so bad," Hermione replied lamely, knowing it was futile to play down the ribbons of crimson flowing freely from her palms.

"Like hell it is!" retorted Ginny, grabbing Hermione's wrists and leading her from the audience stands. "You have to get these seen to right now, Hermione." Not waiting for an answer, Ginny thrusted Hermione through the flaps of the tent, following closely behind her. Inside, Madam Pomfrey was scurrying between two cubicles, Hermione guessed they each housed an injured champion. Hermione felt out of place and pathetic with her bleeding hands, this was, after all, the tent for the burnt champions recuperating from dragon attacks.

"Miss Weasley, Miss Granger, what are you two doing here?" called Madam Pomfrey, noticing us standing in the walkway as she put down some bandages. Hermione could hear rustling and a sharp hiss from the cubicle on the far right. Madam Pomfrey's head snapped towards the noise, "Miss Delacour, I told you no sudden movements! Your back has barely started healing!"

Hermione blushed, embarrassed to be distracting Fleur and causing her pain, embarrassed that she had worried so much over the Beauxbatons student that she had hurt herself to the point of profuse bleeding. Overcome by her self-consciousness, Hermione found herself unable to explain. Luckily, Ginny did that for her.

"Hermione had a panic attack or something, I'm not quite sure," answered Ginny, tugging Hermione towards the healer. "But she managed to claw at a good chunk of her hands, their bleeding a lot." Again, shifting followed by a grunt of pain sounded from the far right cubicle.

"Miss Delacour," warned Madam Pomfrey, walking over to her French charge. Turning to Hermione she said, "Come here, Miss Granger, I'll treat you as I check on my rebellious patient."

Pushing her forward, Ginny gave the brunette a pointed look before leaving. Hermione shuffled to the cubicle that she knew contained an injured Fleur, but the sight that she was met with still surprised her. The beautiful French witch was sat upright in her bed, her torso covered in a thin layer of bandages, her face pulled into a still somehow elegant grimace as she attempted to ward off the nurse's well-intended advances. Hermione stood awkwardly at the entrance to the cubicle as Madam Pomfrey attempted to poor a potion down the blonde's throat.

"I told you, Madam Pomfrey, I do not need it," Fleur insisted, batting away the elder witch's hand. "It is only a burn, I do not see why I also 'ave to take ze Dreamless Sleep."

"Normally I wouldn't," huffed Madam Pomfrey, never one to encourage overmedication, "but you seem to be extremely excitable right now, and I can't have that interfering with your healing!" The medi-witch sighed, putting the potion down, seeing that the obstinate witch would continue to refuse her. She shifted her attention to her other patient, still standing uncertainly at the cubicle entrance.

"Oh dear, what have you done?" asked Madam Pomfrey with concern, bustling over to the Gryffindor. Without waiting for an answer she began Summoned a large purple bottle and rubbed its contents on her wounds. Judging by the herbal scent and accompanying sting, Hermione surmised that she had applied a good layer of dittany to the gashes. Wincing in pain as the salve did its work, Madam Pomfrey gave her a reproachful look. "I haven't a clue what could have worried you so much to make you do this to yourself, Miss Granger, but you better solve it, because this cannot be a repeat occurrence!" she reprimanded as she wound fresh bandages around each of Hermione's hands. Hermione nodded numbly, her stare shifting from her hands to Fleur, and back again. It seemed as though Madam Pomfrey wanted to add something else, but the sound of another new patient caught her attention, and the nurse hurried out, muttering under her breath, "Bloody dragons!"

The two bandaged females were alone in the cubicle, staring intently at each other, wondering who would speak first. It was only then did Hermione notice how thin those bandages were, and how she could still clearly see the shapely form of Fleur's breasts through them. She blushed fiercely and looked down at her own injured hands, feeling more awkward than she had before. The silence continued, and Hermione could deduce that the blonde was waiting for her to speak. She cleared her throat.

"So…" Hermione began hesitantly, unable to put into words what she was feeling. She mustered up that renowned Gryffindor courage yet again, and let her thoughts tumble out, "Despite what I said earlier in the library, I really cannot stand to _not_ be with you. I mean, I didn't want you to get close because of my father, that's why I've been avoiding most of my friends, but it seems that it does more harm than good to go down that path," the brunette rambled, motioning to their bandaged body parts. "What I'm trying to say is…" Fleur smiled knowingly and cut her off.

"You can feel ze bond, can you not?" she asked, a smile on her face. "I felt ze courage you sent me before ze task. It was much appreciated."

"You actually felt that?" Hermione exclaimed with surprise. "So that was actually your pain that I felt when you got burnt," the bookworm speculated. However, Fleur looked alarmed.

"I did not consciously send you zat pain, never would I 'ave!" she insisted, her face scrunched up in thought. After a moment she said in an incredulous voice, "Ze bond must be stronger zan I zought."

The two stood silently in thought, a cyclone of eager, nervous, and lustful energy swirling around them.

"So, mates, huh?" Hermione asked, running a wounded hand through her hair. Wincing in pain, she couldn't stop her nervous habit. However, she was excited that someone knew about her secret and still wanted to be around her, that she hadn't been outrightly rejected.

"Oui," affirmed Fleur, sinking down into her bed.

Realizing how tired the Beauxbatons student must be, Hermione started to leave, telling Fleur that she would talk to her later. It was only after emerging from the cubicle did Hermione notice that the First Task was over, seeing Harry being led in by Ron, a large burn covering his shoulder. It seemed the two best mates had made up, something that Hermione was pleased with, however, it now made her look like the bad friend for not watching him compete against the dragon. She had just begun to solve one problem before creating another. Fourth year never looked harder for Hermione Granger.

* * *

**A/N: **I hope you liked that resolution of sorts, I'm nervously just plodding along this story. I've never been so unsure about the character interactions, reactions to certain events, it's all an exciting experiment for me. Don't expect another update so fast, I have a lot of summer homework I just put off to write this! As always, reviews are welcome!


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